Was It a Crime?
by jacki
Summary: CHAPTER FOUR. Michael has been missing. What happens when he shows up outside Mia's window? How can he explain? Was he kidnapped? Why is he coming on to Mia all of a sudden? And what does all of this have to do with Alex James from Blur? READ ME. DO IT.
1. Nice PJs, Thermopolis

I'm back after a long writing hiatus. YAY!

So this story is titled after a song by the French Kicks, who are an amazing shoe gazer-esque band from NYC. I recommend that you download "Close to Modern", "1985", "One More Time", and "Oh Fine"-- a few of which are available at the French Kicks website. Kthnxbye.

/jacki

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**_Was it a Crime?_ Chapter One**

I try to imagine passing Algebra I. Going to the Algebra I Roast will be fun. I will get up on the podium and look happily over to the book sitting on the chair next to me- Mr. Gianini beside it, because he and the book are in love- and say how "we've had some good and bad times, haven't we?" Or "remember when I didn't know how to solve for variables, so I just used the FOIL method for everything and wasn't that funny?" Many more things too. I don't know what.

See, these are the sorts of things I've been thinking about since Kenny broke up with me. Surprised? Yes, me too. I mean, I hate to sound conceited, but I really am too good for him-- well, just a bit.

Heck, who am I kidding? The kid is obsessed with anime and breathes out of his mouth. Any decent human being is too good for him. I literally fell out of my chair when he told me over the phone that he'd met "someone else" at last weekend's anime convention. I picture her looking like that female Garth clone in _Wayne's World_.

To go back to Algebra I for a minute, promising myself that this will indeed lead to something more interesting, I am in dire need of help. I was doing alright with Michael tutoring me, but he just sort of disappeared all of a sudden. I know how when people say that, they usually mean that said person is preoccupied with schoolwork, or has been sick, or has joined an RPG club and doesn't want to come out of his room until he masters the D&D guide, but Michael really is no where to be seen. In fact, his whole family has been totally worried since Monday morning. They'd thought he was just sleeping really late, but when Mr. Moscovitz finally peered inside his room at 2 pm that day, no Michael. No Michael anywhere for the past 104 hours.

I assure you police have been alerted. It is sad to say though, that not so much attention is being paid to this case. It's almost as if Michael's a lost puppy or parakeet-- like his existence is so inconsequential and worthless that this sort of absurdity is capable of happening. "Ma'am, I'm sorry. Hundreds of boys get lost everyday in New York. It's a sick, sick world, ma'am."

What _is _that nonsense? Nothing should be like this.

With Michael gone, I'm trying to remember him as best I can. Through this, I realize how much I don't know about him. I'd never thought he'd end up as just a speck on my history. I'd never thought he'd be some insignificant player in my life movie. But you don't when you're fourteen, do you? You think unrequited loves will come out of the woodwork to make your fantasies come true. There are Barbie Dream Houses involved. There are kids named Buster and Sally and dogs and white picket fences. Not to say that Michael and I would have ever been more than friends…

_Look at me!_ I'm already speaking like he's never coming back! Like he's _dead_ or something!

There's a tapping on my window that won't stop. I can't imagine Fat Louie would want to go out on the fire escape; it's freezing outside and he hates heights.

"_Thermopolis!_"

Startled, I whirl around. Instead of fining that Fat Louie had acquired the amazing, evolutionary skills of speech, I find a rathered tattered, shaggy-haired boy croutching outside my window, obviously shivering to death in the dark. Things cannot get more surreal than this.

But I hope they do.

I rush over to the window, in my pajamas and struggle to open it. The shaggy-haired boy just waits patiently, gratefully, with his winter coat and a blanket wrapped around him. He obviously has too much confidence in my upper body strength. The window finally pops open and the boy climbs inside, while the blustery January wind pushes in behind him; he turns back and shuts the window to stop it all. I notice how red and chapped his hands are.

"Michael!" I'm apparently too shocked to say anything else.

"Yeah," he has the audacity to laugh. By some cosmic fore, I begin rubbing my hands up the sides of his arms to restore warmth. A strange smile just creeps up on his face and he grabs me in a tight hug.

"_Agh!_ You're covered in snow!" Even though I couldn't really complain.

"You saved my life, Thermopolis!"

"Not really…"

"You saved me!"

"I just opened the window… And, I mean, I wasn't very good at it. It _was_ stuck, but if I wasn't such a loser, I could have opened it faster." Michael let out a laugh too hardy for someone left out in the cold, and hugged me again.

"Thank you, Mia. Because I didn't know where else I was going to hide out." he said with a smirk.

"Wait, wait! _What?_" I said, pushing him off of me. "You've been gone for the past five days- no explanation, no phone calls to anyone- and you just _assume_ I'll let you stay in my room… to _hide out?_" I had to admit that the whole scenario did sound tempting.

"Don't worry," he said. "I promise not to be a burden. You can keep me in your closet or cuffed to your bathtub or something. Anything not outside is good enough for me." Sighing, I weighed my options. I could secretly keep this gorgeous, shaggy-haired boy in my room, probably getting caught and in big trouble in the process, or I could force him back outside or tell an adult, let this wacky opportunity slip out of my hands, and be left with the "what if" questions for the rest of my life. Really, who _would_ choose the latter? Someone responsible, that's who. So in the spirit of irresponsibility…

"Okay," I said finally. "I agree to secretly house you up here. But you have to tell me what's been going on with you."

"Oh, nothing much. I have a bit of a headache though, I suppose."

"_No_, you know what I mean." But he looked at me as if he didn't. Finally, he acknowledged my statement.

"Oh, right," he said smugly, taking off his blanket and jacket, and setting them across my desk chair. "Is tomorrow okay? I'm extremely tired. You understand." After this, and taking off his boots, he just hopped into my bed and closed his eyes. So much for not being a burden.

I grabbed a blanket from my closet, turned off the light, and lay down on the floor.

"No, Mia, there's plenty of room in your bed." In the darkness, I saw him scoot over and pat the empty space beside him. I stood up, but faltered. "C'mon," he whispered. "I'm freezing over here by myself. I'll die."

Biting my lip in anxiety, I tiptoed to my bed and got in. Michael really was still freezing. I found my arm laying itself over his chest as I rolled over onto my stomach. Our legs entwined, but neither of us said anything about it. Before I fell asleep, I heard "Nice pjs, Thermopolis."

**END CHAPTER ONE**

On the short side, yes. Sorry. I just wanted to do a first chapter to start off.

Tell me if you want more. This will all have a strange explanation, I assure you.


	2. Sausage, maybe?

Thank you for the reviews, but I know you guys can do better! Trash like this _must_ deserve more recognition! Hahahaha I kid…

But seriously.

Oh, and I disclaim any ownership of the PD series. Duh.

/jacki

**__**

Was It a Crime? Chapter Two

When I woke up, I became acutely aware of the arms wrapped around my waist and the mass of brown locks rested on my stomach. The torso connected to this glorious head of hair was, unfortunately, clothed, probably because of the cold. All of it was beautiful, nonetheless, as the boy was all draped over me. And to think I might have left him to freeze out on the fire escape, much less told my mom about him. He could be back at his house getting interrogated by his parents and the police, but, no, he was here with me. Come to think of it…

"Michael," I whispered. No response. "_Michael!"_

"_Mmmm…_"

"C'mon, wake up!" I sat up and coaxed him off of me, although regretfully.

"Just let me sleep," he murmured. "And stay here, you're warm." His arms enveloped me again, tighter this time. I waited for him to try to fluff me like a pillow.

"But you have to get up and tell me why you're here in the first place," His eyes suddenly opened and he looked up at me.

"It doesn't matter," He said and closed his eyes again, smiling and nestling his head against my side. "Because I escaped and ran all the way to your place in the cold and you opened your window and we just slept in the same bed and…" He looked up at me again before lifting up my shirt a bit and kissing my stomach a few times. As soon as I got used to this, he jumped out of bed and pulled me out too. "Wow, I'm hungry. Could you please make us something to eat? _Bacon_, perhaps?" he asked with a sly smile. "_Sausage_, maybe?"

I grabbed a pillow and sacked him with it, but he just ran at me and pinned me against the bed, kissing me and then pulling back. A broad smile spread over his face and he spoke. Not of love, not of lust, not of how gross I was, or any thanks for taking him in. No, what he said was "Breakfast." Call me crazy, but food is not the first thing on my mind after a monumental event like this takes place.

"What would you like?" One kiss and I was at the guy's beck and call, apparently.

"You!" he said and then laughed wildly. "I mean… Cookie Crisp."

Floating on many a fluffy cloud, I pranced out of the room and down to the kitchen, where my mom and Mr. Gianini were already eating.

"Good morning!" I sung, probably too cheerfully. "It is a beautiful morning, is it not?" Dancing along on the tiled floor, my mood was deflated the instant Mom's sullen eyes met mine.

"Didn't you hear?" she sniffed. Obviously she had been crying.

"Hear… _what?_"

"Poor girl," I heard Mr. Gianini's disembodied voice say. "See, Mia-"

"No, I'll tell her," My mom interrupted him softly, getting up from the table and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Honey, you know Michael's been missing for days now and…"

"Yes…"

"I know you were friends with him. This isn't very easy to… Well, it's-"

"What is it?"

"They found his body. Late last night." She couldn't control the tears coming out of her eyes now. And even though I knew Michael was up in my room right this moment, I couldn't help but get a bit teary-eyed myself. "It was so ," Sob. "Unident-unidentifiable and they're going to, to…" Sob. "Check his _dental_ records!" I was pretty broken up at this point too, even if it all had to be a ruse. Suddenly, Mom held me in this really tight hug, which, to tell you the truth, just helped the tears along.

"This is horrible." I drew back from my mother cautiously, hoping she would believe I needed time to grieve, alone in my room. "I should just, I'm going to…" My mom just nodded and sniffed. Putting on the best dead unrequited love act I could, I trudged up the stairs without the Cookie Crisp I had promised Michael.

I opened my door quietly, although I was immediately pounced upon as soon as I closed it and took a few steps.

"I see you don't have the cereal. That's fine, I really did want _you_ in the first place." Michael laughed and promptly began planting kisses on my neck. I honestly have no idea what has gotten into him. And maybe all of this would be okay some other time, but not now.

"Everyone thinks you're _dead_, Michael," I said finally. His lips stopped in their tracks and he looked up at my tear-stained face. "My mom just said they found your body last night. I mean, I know you're alive, but this is just-"

"Mia, Mia," he said, his face solemn for the first time. "Sit down on the bed and I'll tell you everything." He backed away and gestured toward the mass of sheets and blankets. "You wouldn't _believe_ everything that has happened to me."

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END CHAPTER TWO


	3. I have my dignity

I'm horrible at updating frequently.

But all of you already knew that, yes?

I'd already had an idea for this to be a tragedy. I even wrote the last chapter and the little of what would have been this chapter, but my main computer- let's just establish that it is quite an enormous pile of shit- had to be wiped completely clean of everything. No more stories, no more mp3s, no more pirated copies of photo-editting software. So since I am not using my old idea anymore, I will just tell you that _WIaC_ was going to end with Mia waking up from a dream about Michael (who is dead) and telling her crappy husband Kenny about it-- roll credits. But, thankfully, that is all out the window now and I am going to continue the story with what will be a strange, funny, and romantic sequence of events that is backed by some logic and will only bewilder you a little bit... but in a good way.

anyway, here we go...

**_Was It a Crime_ Chapter Three**

For a while Michael and I just lay on the unmade bed, staring at my ceiling. My eyes tarried from discolored spot to discolored spot, they lingered among the area of black spots Lilly and I created when, during a boring sleepover some years ago, we had thrown uncapped Sharpies at the ceiling.

"So you say you've come to my window from some alternate dimension?.." I said.

I couldn't believe the complete and utter psychosis that must have seeped into Michael's brain during his days on the street, or wherever he had been. Chances are he had hit his head and was taken under the wing of a old, panhandling, Substation-dwelling heroin junkie. After he'd learned all of the junkie's teachings, he'd probably only just remembered his way to my place and would now go on to tell me was the next of God's sons that were just bound to spring up in the next millenniums after Jesus. God gets around, you know, and every once in a while he fails to use protection.

"Yes," he said, casually taking my hand and rubbing my palm with his thumb.

"...And for the past few months you've been a consultant for a group of renegade scientists who have developed a, um, a _time_ machine of sorts?..."

"More like amatuer renegade scientists, I guess, but yes," the palm-rubbing gradually progressed to constant eye contact.

"...And so you've been gone all this time testing this, uh... the time machine thing? Is that it?"

"Mia, _yes_," Michael reiterated, staring so deeply into my eyes that the sensuality of the act was becoming an uncomfortable novelty. Finally, I just had to get up, get away from him. Besides, his story didn't really make sense. I mean, logically, couldn't he have just spent his time _consulting_ within the folds of the space-time continuum?

"Michael, you're... Well, you're kind of really crazy," is what I said. It just sounded a little mean when I looked over at his sad eyes.

"So you don't believe me. I could have guessed... That's why I brought _this_, Mia."

"Wow, a Sidekick! I didn't know you had one! Open it, open it! I love the swish-flicky screen thing!" Now I will admit that I did a little grabbing and cooing, but so what?

"Mia, it's no Sidekick," he said, opening the gadget. "And that text on the screen isn't a message from Snoop asking me how to program a VCR." Oh, ha ha, ho ho, Michael. Pretty smug speak for someone who is so obviously insane.

"Then what is it, Professor?"

"Shit, Mia, it's kind of obvious," he grinned priggishly, tongue planted firmly in cheek. "It's only the latest collective particle transporter and spatial bending companion."

I sighed, signalling him to explain further.

"You see, Mia, Time, as we know it, is a continuum. Everything happens in an irreversible succession from the past, through the present, to the future," he said, gesturing with his hands. "It's a movie that we can never, ever watch a second time. But this thing- well, it's actually called a Flecto- can interrupt that movie. Rewind it, fast forward it, even allow one to, I don't know, explore _alternative story lines_ to the movie. And even if you don't like the alternative storylines, it doesn't matter, because you can just rewind and start again."

His eyebrows arched and danced as he talked, an awfully conspicuous glint growing in his dark, ambitious eyes. I was scared, I was intrigued, I was wildly attracted to this very Han Solo side of him.

"I think I know a little about time travel, Michael. After all, I i have /i seen all of _Back to the Future_s quite a few times..." I said, mock-manner-of-factly. I think Michael might have thought I was being serious. "But you didn't _have_ to be gone, did you? You could've used the time ma- I mean, the _Flecto_ to be back in bed before anyone was worried, am I right?"

"Well, you see-"

"Oh, I know, you couldn't stay too long in time travel, because that would make you terribly old..."

"Mia-"

"Oh, but that's from _Clockstoppers_ and, yeah, what a hardly credible movie that piece of Universal Stud-"

"Mia, Mia, Mia," he shook me. "It's broken. It's been broken since Monday when I came back from an alternate dimension and ended up in Iowa."

Iowa is such a kooky place. It survives on an economy almost completely dependant upon corn, soybeans, and livestock. It's roads are beautifully wide and well-maintained, and yet they're wasted upon a pathetically small population whose transportation mostly consists of horse-drawn buggies or something. Tom Arnold, Radar O'Reilly from _MASH_, and Ashton Kucher were born there. And now Iowa is apparently the home of the time travel hub. I tell you, the world is just too strange.

"I had to hitch hike and bribe my way all the way back to New York, you see."

"Wouldn't it have been easier just to call your parents?"

"I have my dignity, Thermopolis."

**END CHAPTER THREE**

I like absurdity. It's delightful. Expect a few celebrity guest appearances. I'm not saying from who, only one is kind of given away by the story summary.


	4. Just kiss it off

THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS!

I promise I'll plan better and stay a few chapters ahead of posting the next time I start a new story, OK? I want to stop making you guys get impatient. And I'm actually cooking up a few ideas as we speak. Mwaha.

And Schwartzibrow, you're mean. Chapter four was not invisible. It's not even the invisible kind of chapter. It has super strength. And it was demonstrating its mutant powers elsewhere. Like in Microsoft Word and in my head.

**_Was It a Crime? _Chapter Four**

Needless to say, Michael was the only person I know who would end up in the Midwest and choose to "hitch hike and bribe" his way back to New York. Of course, he was also the only person I knew who would keep a crazy joke like this going for as long as he could. I wanted to believe him though. All of it sounded so magical. And maybe if I did believe him, he'd kiss me again.

Shit, OK, how absolutely pathetic was that just now? About a nine on a ten scale?

"Assuming all this is true- and, I mean, _just_ assuming- how did you get mixed up with these, uh- _what did you call them_- renegade scientists in the first place?"

"OK, well, do you remember that Alex James interview I did for Crackhead about a year ago?" he asked.

Of course I did. Formally foxy and now humorously bearded bassist Alex from Blur? Who in their right mind could forget? The interview was so brilliant. Michael totally got Mr. James to bash Damon Albarn on record.

"Of course."

"Well, I kept in contact with him afterwards. We've been fairly good email friends for months now," he said, looking modest. Um, _excuse me_? It's not exactly polite to befriend a major English celebrity and not tell anyone about it. Or maybe blabbing is just what _girls_ do. Who knows. "Well, he told me about a new space-oriented program he was involved in promoting along with Damien Hirst- you know, since Beagle 2 hit the rocks. He said the team of scientists was looking for a low-wage guy to take care of their computer programming and digital communication needs and asked me if I'd like the job. So, _duh_, I basically jumped at the offer and volunteered for free."

"Wow," was all I could think to say.

"Yeah."

"But how did you end up using the… thing?"

"The… _Flecto_?" he said with a grin. Jerk.

"No shit."

"Well, the whole Flecto experience was really just their gift back to me for what I was doing for them. It had been tested for weeks before I used it, so I thought it would be pretty safe. Plus, I wanted to go because there was something I, uh… wanted to find out."

"What?" I asked, somehow causing Michael's cheeks to turn a delightful shade of pink. I mentally noted that it was just the perfect color to paint my wall.

"I was, um, in love wi- That is to say, there was a girl that I…" He trailed off as his eyes darted from place to place. Finally, he seemed to gain composure. "OK, well, there was someone who I was somewhat fond of and I just, well I wanted to… find out if they felt the same way, I guess."

"Oh, right," I smiled weakly. I wondered who the lucky girl was. That fruit fly-cloning bitch Judith, no doubt. Or maybe Missy Schroeder. Missy was so gorgeous. And good at math. "So, um, Michael, you said you'd escaped. Where did you… escape _from_?"

That's it, Mia, try to change the subject to avoid inevitable heartbreak.

"Huh?" he looked taken aback, and quickly edged away from me. Wait, he was close to me before? Dammit. "Oh, yeah. Um, various places. The clutches of the doting elderly, you know. Wal-Mart interrogation rooms…" Before I even had time to furrow my brow in confusion, he continued. "There are some weird people out there, Mia. I had my own little odyssey of sorts trekking back here."

Like being trapped on a nymphomaniac sorceress's island? Is that what he meant? Was I, like, Penelope to his Odysseus? Must tell Tina about this. No, scratch that. She'd wind up binging on Greco-Roman epics and probably find her way to the _Satyricon_. Ancient male-on-male romance is something no one our age needs to read. I was probably just Telemachus to him, anyway.

"You'll have to tell me about it."

"Well, I can righ--"

A knock suddenly sounded on my door. Both of us froze.

"Quick, under the covers," I whispered, the two of us scuttling to look like just one lump under my duvet.

"What is it? I'm sleeping," I called, affecting a groggy tone of voice, all while Michael's right arm snaked its way around my waist. Hello to you too.

"Sweetie, I was just wondering if you wanted to, you know, talk?" Mom replied, still out in the hall.

Thank God she hadn't come in. And thank God it hadn't been Mr. G. I mean, it's enough that he went from being my Algebra teacher to knocking up my mom, he doesn't have to turn around and be concerned with my emotional well-being.

"I don't really feel like talking now, Mom."

Michael began tickling my tummy, causing me to squirm and stifle giggles. I quickly jabbed him in the stomach before I was erupting with laughter. What happened to the girl he was "somewhat fond of?" Isn't he being… somewhat unfaithful?

"Oh, right. OK. Um, that's fine. Just know that I'm here, you know, if you… want to."

All this mushy disquiet over a non-dead Michael. Jesus Christ. I suppose I would be pretty broken apart if the scenario was real though. Without him, who would come on to me out of nowhere, for no apparent reason?

"I know, Mom. Thank you," I said as sweetly and sincerely as I could manage. She deserved as much.

Under the covers, Michael's arms once again reached around my waist and his fingers casually found their way to mine, lacing themselves with their female counterparts.

"So tell me your story, war-weary traveler," I said, pushing the covers down from on top of us.

"Of course, Princess," he said. I could just feel that gorgeous Michael smirk burning into my back.

"Don't call me that. You know very well that I don't like being reminded that I'm going to end up spending the rest of my life ruling a small, European principality and getting yelled at by Grandmé re."

"Precisely why I do it, Your Highness."

I turned toward him to find that he was still, in fact, smirking just as I had thought.

"Well, why don't you get on with your story already, so I don't have to wipe that smug look of your face?"

"You could just kiss it off, Mia."

"Um, _WHAT?" _I gaped, sure I looked as if Michael had just whipped out his penis or something.

But, seriously, did I actually just ask that? Did I really just reject a romantic suggestion from The _Michael? _I could have sworn this was the kind of line I would have died to hear just a few minutes ago. What is my problem?

Apparently, I didn't have that much of a problem though, because The Michael just replied with a burst of laughter before he pulled me in for a tight hug.

"Oh, Mia," he said, still chuckling. "Mia, Mia, you're a riot."

I was? Well, as long as riots get nice Michael hugs. And just as Mia the Riot was getting her hug, there was yet another knock on the door. I assumed it was just Mom bringing up breakfast. But before I even had time for a "what is it," there was Lilly, donning a very surprised look on her face. Michael immediately released his hug and tried to duck under my comforter, but he was too late.

"I _KNEW_ IT!" she hollered. "I just _knew_ you couldn't have been dead! Obviously you were just hiding here at _her _house the _whole_ time!" she spat, pointing an accusing finger in my face.

"No, Lilly. No, no, no! I just came here last night."

"It's true!" I said.

"And so you guys _slept _in the same _bed?_" You could see the questions growing inside her head. "Or maybe… _Ewww_… _Did_ you?"

"_NO!" _Michael and I said in unison.

"Mia?" my mom called. Oh, God. "Mia, what's going on up here? Why's Lilly being so-- Oh My God."

"Mm_hmm_," Lilly nodded.

"We've got to inform the police, your _parents_, the investigative-- _Why_ are you two in the same bed?"

END CHAPTER FOUR

You know, I visited the doctor for a checkup today and discovered that I have Rocky Mountain Spotted Leopard Pants Fever, type FF. Apparently, this sort of disease can only be cured by reviews. So, um… please save my life?

P.S. To you Rooney fans (I know there are tons of you around here), I have seven or so Rooney promo stickers left over from my fangirl/street team whore days. If anyone wants one or a couple, email me or say something in a review.


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